Muscle Management
by Balloon Animal
Summary: Scout is suffering from a physical problem with no easy solution. Now he has to rely on Heavy's help or face a dishonorable discharge. It's a tough choice.
1. Chapter 1

**Behold!** A TF2 fanfiction!

By Balloon Animal

* * *

It happened halfway between the forts. Scout had been running high on exhilaration with the enemy's intel strapped securely to his back. Bullets thudded behind his heels, but he was well in the clear before the opposing Heavy's minigun could reach him in time.

Routine stuff really.

He had just made it past the bridge and now only had the homestretch to go. A rocket whistled past his head and exploded in a fiery ball of death rattling the ground beneath him. The doorway of his home base loomed ahead and it wouldn't be long before his team would be slapping him on the back and congratulating him on a job well done. It was all in a days work for a badass like Scout.

A smirk crept across his face at that thought. He couldn't help it that he was fucking amazing.

It could have been a slight misstep, or maybe just the wear-and-tear of an active lifestyle, but for whatever reason Scout's left asscheek clenched in a split second of unbelievably mind-numbing pain.

"Arrrghh!" Scout skidded to his knees. All thoughts of securing the intelligence had been temporarily forgotten as he clutched at his throbbing backside. The briefcase was flung off his back during the commotion, hitting the ground with a thud several feet from his position. White pieces of paper drifted around his head and were littered across the dusty battlefield.

"Fuck, fuck, _fuck!" _He hissed. Already he could hear the angry shouts of his teammates asking in their own colourful vocabularies why exactly he was taking this unauthorized timeout. Right now though he was preoccupied with what had just happened to his ass.

Now, Scout was no stranger to pain. He had been maimed and mutilated in a whole manner of inventive ways, but he couldn't recall this happening before. At first he thought he might have been shot. His hand clutched at his pants, but he didn't feel the tell-tale warmth of blood from a bullet wound. It was almost as if something had snapped inside of him. Like he had actually broken his ass.

Unfortunately that was all the time Scout had to ponder this unusual incident. The BLU Heavy was close enough now to bear down on him. He didn't take the time to question why the enemy was kneeling, completely exposed on the battlefield. Instead he bellowed his warcry "Leetle man is baby!" and unleashed an expensive volley of bullets onto the grounded Scout.

In the haze of respawn, as his gibs were pieced back together thanks to unspeakably complex mathematical equations, Scout put his jumbled thoughts back into place. He was just as pissed off as he was the moment his innards were minced by gunfire.

It was a marvel of science, really.

* * *

"Can you explain just what kind of a sorry performance that was today, maggot?"

"For the last time, I told you. Something hit me in the ass, JEEZE!"

The debriefing was not going well. Scout's throat was getting hoarse defending himself. To make matters worse, for some reason respawn hadn't completely eliminated the twinge in his muscle. He had to resist the urge to rub his butt in front of all his teammates.

"Non, let us hear the boy out." Spy smirked with the usual cigarette hanging from his lips. "Do go on Scout. Tell us exactly what 'appened to your 'ass'." The rest of the team looked towards Scout expectantly.

Scout puffed his chest out in an effort to contain his mounting fury. Clearly no one was going to take him seriously. Whatever, he didn't have time for this bullshit anyway. "Okay, fuck you guys. I'm outta here." He turned on his heel to leave. Unfortunately Scout made the mistake of putting too much weight on his left leg. To his horror, pain bolted down his backside in a series of well-timed muscle spasms. He caught himself on the doorframe panting, and effectively ruining his dramatic exit.

A round of snickering rose up in the boardroom. Slouching against a doorframe clutching his ass like a chucklenut wasn't doing anything for his bad-boy image. Everyone was looking at him with a mixture of amusement and derision. Everyone except for the Heavy Weapons Guy, who had an odd frown across his face.

He salvaged the last of his dignity to flip everyone off before he limped away to the infirmity. Maybe the Doc could figure this out before the humiliation forced him to resign.

* * *

"So just say it Doc, what's wrong with me?"

Scout was trying to hide his embarrassment by burying his face in his folded arms. It was bad enough that he had to lie stomach down on one of the examination benches with his pants down to his thighs, but the Medic's insensitive commentary really was the icing on the cake.

"It is ironic that ze biggest pain in ze bottom should have one of his own, ja?" He chuckled as his own joke and continued to press his gloved fingers into Scouts firm gluteus muscle, trying to determine the source of this injury.

"Haaa, shit!" Scout rose up slightly when Medic's cool digits pressed into a particularly sore spot. "Jesus! What the hell are you doin' back there?"

"How interesting," Medic murmured to himself as his fingers splayed out across warm flesh, exploring the contours of the muscle beneath the skin.

Scout groaned.

"Does it hurt vhen I do this?" He took hold of Scout's leg and lifted it up, stretching Scout's ligaments whilst keeping a hand firmly on the young man's buttocks.

"It hurts like shit!" Scout gripped the sterile white blankets of the examination table trying not to shriek like a little girl. "Just fuckin' tell me what's wrong, ya crazy Kraut."

The Medic let Scout's leg drop none to gently and tsk'd as he made a note on his clipboard. "Now, now Scout. It vould hardly be proper medical conduct if ve vere not thorough." To punctuate his point, Medic slapped a hand down on Scout's exposed rear.

Scout yelped in protest and threw a glare over his shoulder. He grabbed his pants and squirmed to get them back over his hips. He wasn't going to provide the doctor with any more opportunities to molest him. As soon as the elastic was comfortably snug around his waist, he swung his legs over the side of the bed, making sure to favor his weight on his right side. He gave an experimental flex, and like a poorly oiled machine the unsettling discomfort once again flared up in his backside. He let his guard down enough to stare at the doctor in anguish. He was the team's Scout. What use would he be in this condition?

Medic must have sensed the boy's consternation, because he sighed and lowered his glasses to look at the young man. "Okay Herr Scout. You have an extremely stressed gluteus muscle. It is a common condition amongst athletes. Ze Iliopspoas muscle becomes contracted and effectively limits movement of ze limb. I hear it is quite painful!"

Scout scratched his head as he listened to the Doctor's unnecessarily cheerful explanation, most of it gibberish to his ears. "Alright so, enough of the mumbo jumbo Doc. Just zap me with that gun of yours or whatever."

"Scout, if you mean for me to treat your condition with ze medi-gun, I am afraid zhat vould be ineffectual."

"Waddaya mean? I've seen you put fuckin' arms back together with that thing! Just zap me already."

"Oh! I see. You are a doctor now too?" The Medic was putting on a new pair of gloves, making sure to slap the latex in satisfaction. "Ze medi-gun can only restore your body to its previous condition. Vhat you have, dear Scout, is a chronic injury zhat has most likely been developing for years. Zhere is no quick fix solution. As I am sure you have already discovered, Respawn vill not mend it eizer. Du dummer Junge! Please do not look at me like that."

"So that's it then? I'm gonna have a busted ass forever." Scout rolled his leg in his joint, testing the limitations of movement. Scout could already feel the emotion rising in his chest. Running was really all he had to put his name to. If he couldn't run, well, that was the end of the line for Scout.

"Is that vhat I said?" Medic threw his arms up in frustration. "You have a tight muscle. All you need to do is stretch it vunce a day. It may be tedious, ja, but it is not fatal. You vill recover. Until then I shall prescribe you with some pain medication."

While Scout was left to ponder this, Medic pulled out a drawer and retried a bottle of pills. "Okay," he rattled the container. "Vun for you und vun for me. Haha! That is a little joke of mine."

Scout didn't laugh.

* * *

Stretching. Really? Scout's mind drifted back to the days he was on the senior league team back in Boston. His coach used to make them complete a militant warm-up session before practice. He always thought it was pointless. Why waste valuable time doing squats and lunges in a field when they could be playing ball?

Now upon reflection, as he groaned under the strain of his tightening muscle, maybe it wasn't so stupid.

He swore as he pushed his weight further into the stretch. His leg was hoisted on a chair while he grabbed his foot and pulled it towards himself. His hamstring was at its limit. He panted. He had to do this every day? For how long? Scout pulled out of the stretch and kicked the chair away in frustration.

Scout had never been known for his patience.

He paced across his room, rubbing that particularly sore part of his butt tenderly. What a joke. He'd once taken a crit-rocket to the chest, but a tight muscle was what was going to undo him? When he had finally worn himself out with self-pity, he slumped onto the bed to stare at the cracked ceiling. Fan-fucking-tastic.

It wasn't long before he heard the tell-tale rap of knuckles against his door. Hoisting himself to his feet, he approached the door suspiciously and opened it a fraction to peer out. He had half been expecting to see Spy with some flimsy excuse to continue his gloating, but was surprised to see the Heavy, towering over him with a strangely timid expression.

"Yeah, waddaya want?" Scout asked raising an eyebrow.

"I… spoke to Doktor today. You have problem with behind, yes?"

This immediately rubbed Scout the wrong way. "Oh so you want an update on my ass? Well here's an update for ya; fuck you!" At that he slammed the door shut. Couldn't a guy suffer in peace around here?

He stormed back to his bed, kicking detritus of magazines and dirty clothes out of the way, ignoring the persistent knocks that followed after him. "I told ya man, I don't wanna talk about it. Knock it off!"

Not one to be discouraged, Heavy cracked the door open to watch Scout slump on his bed with more care than usual. He opened the door wider until his massive body filled the space and ignored the heated glares that Scout was sending his way. "I might have solution for leetle man."

Scout perked up at this, but was still suspicious enough to reserve his enthusiasm. He was learning quickly that if something appeared too good to be true, it usually was. He leaned back on his elbows and looked up to survey the large man under the brim of his cap. "Last I checked rooski, you ain't a doctor. What can you do for me?"

To Scout's astonishment, the Heavy looked abashed. This was no mean feat for a 400 pound man. He watched as the Russian fished a crumpled piece of paper out from his back pocket and handed it to the perplexed young man.

"What the hell is this?"

"Is qualifications. Back home was what you call 'masseur'. I am very good if you trust." He cracked his knuckles in an unsettling way.

Scout folded out the paper, which was yellow with age. It looked official enough, apart from being written completely in Cyrillic. He looked back up at the Heavy and his imagination was suddenly bombarded with imagery of this enormous bald man rubbing him up and down in lavender oil, wearing nothing but a nurse's outfit.

He only just held back an incredulous guffaw and handed the certificate back to Heavy. "You can't be serious?"

"Was important skill back home. Body is like machine, must be maintained." He folded the paper tenderly and slipped it back in his pocket. "If you want I can help. Is no problem." He grinned at Scout, clearly very confident in himself.

"Ahh," Scout only had to think about it for a second, "no."

Heavy's face fell, but he persisted. "If leetle man is sore then is no credit to team. I can fix easily. Is like maintaining Sasha. Needs repair every so often."

"Okay man," Scout leaned over to try and explain to this man why exactly he wouldn't want an obese Russian man rubbing him everywhere. "I really don't think that's gonna work. I have some exercises; the doc gave me some pills. It's cool."

The Heavy hovered hesitantly in the doorway. He was sharp enough to know a rebuff when he heard one. "Well, if ever you change mind, I am always here. Hope you are ready for battle tomorrow."

"Yeah okay, whatever." He waited until Heavy closed the door before he plonked his head down on the pillow with a sigh. That was probably the strangest thing that had ever happened to him. The Heavy, a genuine certified masseur. Seriously?

He thought about how Heavy would meticulously clean his weapons every night. If Sasha was ever nicked or scratched he would borrow equipment from Engineer to buff and polish it feverishly until you could see your face in the painfully shiny metal. It was excessive in Scout's opinion. He tilted his head and looked at his prized Sandman resting against the far wall. It had a thick crack right down the centre that was only held together by a piece of flimsy duct tape. It still worked fine.

Scout looked back at the ceiling and unconsciously rubbed his side. Yeah, he'd be okay…

* * *

Scout didn't know what the Doc had given him, but it was freaking potent. The instructions on the bottle said to take one every six hours. Scout didn't want to take any chances with this throbbing pain in his ass, so he had swallowed four. He swayed from side to side strangely detached from reality while the team stood in the re-supply room waiting for the battle to begin. As nice as it felt, somewhere in the hazy recess of his brain he knew that it might interfere with his performance today.

Scout wasn't the only one to notice this. Engineer tilted his helmet back with his thumb curiously as he watched the kid slowly nodding in and out of consciousness. "You right there boy? Somethin' seems different about you today."

"Hey, I'm fine okay. Get off my fre-freakin' back." Scout slurred. He swaggered a little to far to the left and had to catch his fall with his baseball bat.

The Medic interrupted this scene with a cough, "I have simply given Herr Scout something to alleviate his symptoms. However, slight drowsiness can be a side effect."

"Slight?" Engineer asked incredulously as he watched Scout's eyes droop shut.

Medic waved his hand, "it is only temporary. He vill be more zhan capable vhen we start." He eyed Scout suspiciously, "zhat is if he has taken it correctly."

"Mission begins in 60 seconds."

Everyone in the room was now looking at Scout. If the Boston boy wasn't drugged to the eyeballs, he might have felt self-conscious about it.

"I've seen drunken roo's more alert than he is. He bloody better not cost us the battle, that's all I'm saying." Sniper adjusted his aviators and looked forward with cold hard determination.

Scout was going to throw an insult Sniper's way, but before the words had even formed in his mouth he had forgotten what was happening. Hey, this room was really white wasn't it? It sort of reminded him of fluffy clouds and sheep. Woo, lying down would be pretty awesome right about now.

The siren signaling the start of battle blared. Scout was usually the first to push forward, but today he simply stood there as hazy blurs rushed past him, leaving him alone and confused in that cold white room.

He slowly cocked his scattergun and stumbled forward. It was going to be a long day.

* * *

"Yo Snipes, what's up?"

Startled, Sniper looked around to find a slightly inebriated Scout climbing into his lookout. He leaned away as the boy approached. "Bloody hell, you're bleedin' everywhere."

"Huh?" Scout looked down to discover his shirt was drenched in blood and was now dribbling down his pants onto the grimy wooden floor beneath him. He must have taken a few bullets to the gut on his way over here. Somehow, it didn't seem to concern him. "Aw, that's nothin'. I like, don't even feel it. What are you doin' anyway?"

"I'm trying to win a war, and I don't know if you've noticed but the other team is giving our backsides a wallop. Go find Medic and leave me alone." Sniper turned back to the window to watch the chaos of the battlefield through his rifle scope.

"C'mon, ya don't have to be a total asshole." Scout attempted to punch Sniper on the shoulder good-naturedly, instead he misaimed and landed chest first on the Australian, smearing blood all over his leather vest. Scout gave some snorting laughs, finding this hysterically funny.

Sniper was inclined to disagree and pushed Scout away in disgust.

"Listen mate, you clearly ain't fit for this fight. Go and wait in the infirmary before you completely cock things up for the rest of us."

Scout had stopped listening to Sniper, instead distracted by the shiny bullet cartridges strapped to his front. He slumped down on a crate, trying to get a grip on his foggy mind. Oblivious to how obviously he was irritating Sniper, he began to chatter inanely. His hands flicked speckles of blood around when he gesticulated.

Sniper growled, dividing his attention between providing cover fire for his team and thinking of a way to forcibly remove of this pest. He heard some shrieks down near the bridge and realised that their Medic was now strewn in little pieces, courtesy of a sticky bomb. It was something that might have been avoided if he had been focusing on the battle and not preoccupied with an obnoxious brat.

"-So then I said, if it's runnin' you better go catch it. Haha!"

That was it. He turned around to grab Scout by the collar. "Roight, listen you little mongrel, I've had it up to here with you. Get back down there before I shoot you prope-"

Scout never did find out what Sniper was going to do. Sniper had left himself exposed long enough for the enemy Sniper to take a perfect headshot, and was now lying lifeless in a puddle of blood decorated with fragments of skull and bits of brain matter.

Scout blinked at this unexpected turn of events. Now who was he going to talk to?

He sat for a few more moments listening to the distant din of mayhem outside until the Respawn system picked up on Sniper's body and it slowly faded from sight. Oh well. You win some you lose some. He picked himself up and wandered back over to the hatch. Maybe Demoman wanted some company.

* * *

It wasn't just the physical pain that came into sharp focus as the medication wore off; Scout also had to deal with the reality of his actions on the battlefield, not to mention the eternal shame he had earned because of it.

Fucking up for one battle was bad enough, but twice was unforgivable.

"The bloody lad got me blown tae smithereens!"

"I do believe they stole our intelligence five times. 'Ow can we even show our faces in ze next round?"

"Mmmpphh mmphh mmmrr!"

Scout sunk into his seat, pulling his hat over his eyes. It didn't help. He could still feel the collective intensity of eight pairs of angry eyes boring into him.

The team was once again in the boardroom. The theme of the meeting today was their repeated failures and how it may or may not have been entirely Scout's fault. Soldier was hard enough to handle in a good mood. After a solid half-hour of yelling, head smacking and degrading with the occasional interjection from another teammate, he was finally beginning to wrap up his demoralizing speech. Scout was ready to hang himself.

"This is the final straw private. If you are not in ship-shape condition by oh six hundred tomorrow you can consider yourself dishonorably discharged. Do I make myself clear!"

Scout nodded mutely, ignoring the rain of spittle that flew from the Soldier's mouth.

"Tomorrow I'm expecting to see a team of MEN, ladies. Meeting adjourned!"

One by one each of the disgruntled team members filtered out of the room. Scout kept his cap down because he couldn't bear to look anyone in the eye just yet. He was rolling over his options in his mind, and it was looking more and more likely that tomorrow could be his last day at 2Fort, unless some miracle intervened.

Finally the room was quiet, so he slowly rose from his chair to leave. He almost didn't notice the Heavy was still sitting across from him. His broad arms were crossed and his wide face etched in a frown.

"Leetle man was not credit to team today."

Scout took of his cap to run a hand through his hair. He was too tired to be angry anymore. "Yeah, I get it okay. I suck. Are we done yet?"

Heavy closed his eyes and hummed thoughtfully. "I can still fix problem. Come to Docktor's office tonight. I will prepare everything."

The very nature of Scout's personality meant that he was ingrained to automatically reject this, but a day of failure had worn his defenses down. Right now he just felt drained. If tomorrow really was going to be his last day then what the hell did he have to lose? Why not let a fat Russian guy rub him up? Great idea.

He heaved a sigh and looked Heavy in the eyes. "Okay fine. But I don't want any funny business or I'll break your skull in, ya hear?"

"Da," agreed Heavy, and then chortled. "Leetle baby man will be good as new tomorrow." He stood up, walked over to Scout and slapped a friendly hand on his shoulder, nearly crippling the boy. "Eight o'clock in Doktors office. Bring towel."

Scout watched him lumber out of the room. He was suddenly not so sure what exactly he had gotten himself into. "Wait a minute," He wondered, looking towards the door "Why do I need a freakin' towel?"

* * *

Scout paced the hall a few times before he summoned the courage to enter the office. He was mortified to discover that Heavy had gone to the effort of lighting candles and had strategically placed them around the room, creating warm shadows to flickers across Medic's desk and filing cabinets. It was almost enough to make him walk straight back out.

"What the hell is this shit?" He waved a hand at the closest candle, which was dripping wax onto Medic's polished oak desk.

Heavy, who had been preoccupied with his preparations, turned around when he heard Scout. He was dressed in a white singlet top that showcased the full expanse of his muscular arms. It was an odd sight since he never usually seen unequipped without his ammunition belt. "Ah Scout! You have arrived! Are you ready to start?"

"No really man, what are the fagsticks for?"

"Oh," The Heavy perked. "Is for creating mood." He wiggled his fingers like that explained everything, "important that you are relaxed. Is necessary for proper massage."

"Maybe if I were in the mood for a satanic ritual. Blow em out."

Although he looked disappointed, Heavy conceded. With a thumb and finger he pinched out each of the flames, he then motioned towards the makeshift massage table slightly more disgruntled than earlier. "If you are happy now we can start. Take off clothes and lie down."

Scout hesitated. He fiddled with the towel slung over his shoulder and looked between Heavy and the table in the centre of the room. "Do I have to take off ALL my clothes, cuz, y'know, that's kinda…"

"Is necessary." Heavy then chuckled in his deep voice. "Leetle Scout is shy! Do not worry. We are both men here."

That was exactly Scout's problem, although he didn't say it. Breathing deeply, he stripped as quickly as he could, making sure to wrap the towel around his waist before he could be exposed for too long. He hoisted himself up onto the table and lay belly down, trying not to think to hard about what was actually happening here.

"So, if ready to begin. Tell me where you feel sore most?"

"Well uh," Scout turned his head to the side, more comfortable looking at the far wall than the large man beside him. "I guess over here." He waved his hand over his left asscheek, hoping that was specific enough for the Russian.

"Ah, is common problem. When I am done you will feel like new man!"

Scout breathed out, and hoped this would be over sooner rather than later.

The Heavy reached over to the far table and retrieved a bottle of viscous yellow liquid. He poured a small amount into his large hands and began to slowly rub them together. "Is cooking oil," he admitted, "not so many supplies to work with."

"Nah, that's great," muttered Scout, still focusing on the far wall. "I've always wanted to smell like a deep fryer. No problem."

He jumped a little when he first felt warm slick hands touch his back. He wasn't sure what he had been expecting, but the surprisingly gentle touch was a welcome relief. Heavy was only using his thumbs at first, starting at the top of Scout's neck and moving in slow concentric circles down his spine.

"Uuurrgg." Scout squirmed. He didn't know how this was going to cure his ass, but it sure felt nice. He had half expected, knowing Heavy's strength, that this might be a brutal affair. After all, he had seen those same hands crush bones like chalk. It was amazing how well the large man could hold back when he wanted to.

The fingers were now working on his shoulder blades, digging in with just enough pressure to elicit another groan from Scout. Fuck, this felt amazing. The fingers trailed dangerously close to the edge of Scout's towel, and Scout didn't even care. Heavy was giving some extra attention to this area, kneading and stretching the skin, soothing aches and pains that Scout didn't even know he had. Scout could have melted into the table.

"Scout is very tense. Too much running for tiny body to take."

"Haaa, auuurh." Scout answered. His face contorted in bliss.

Bypassing the toweled area for now, Heavy moved on to Scout's thighs, only pausing to re-oil his palms. Large hands glided down the skin, radiating warmth into Scout's neglected muscles. He spent a good deal of time kneading the boy's hamstrings, which over Scout's lifetime had become has hard as cement.

Heavy's gentle method was now giving way to a firmer touch. He used the strength necessary to penetrate the muscle and relieve the deep-rooted tension trapped under the hardened flesh.

Now they were walking fine line between pain and pleasure.

Scout gripped at the table and tried not to cry out. It was becoming a squeeze away from being unbearable. Heavy was kneading his calf muscles like play-doh, working his way up until he reached the arch of Scout's tired feet. He relented the pressure when his thumbs caressed Scout's heels almost lovingly, and Scout sagged in relief.

Perhaps if it was the extended period without human contact, or maybe just the inexperience of youth to blame but something was becoming increasingly apparent to Scout. And it was very, very unwelcome.

Scout moved slightly in discomfort, hoping to God that Heavy hadn't noticed he had a painful erection trapped between his stomach and the table.

Fortunately it seemed that Heavy was preoccupied with Scout's feet, rubbing his fingers between each toe. Kudos to Heavy for his attention to detail, but now Scout was wishing it wasn't feeling quite so nice. A whine slipped from his mouth and he resisted the urge to clap a hand over his face.

"Okay," Heavy said as he finished with Scout's right foot. "Now it is time for real business."

"Huh?" Was all Scout had time to say before Heavy grabbed the towel from his hips, and moved up to expose his bare ass.

Scout squeezed his legs together.

"This is source of pain, yes?" Heavy placed a warm oily palm on Scout's left buttocks.

Scout nodded dumbly.

"Leetle man might want to hold on to something." Heavy laughed when Scout stiffened and gripped the sides of the table for support. "Do not worry. You are in good hands. I am professional."

"Okay," Scout swallowed and mentally prepared himself for the fact that another man was about to grope his ass for the second time this week. "Good to know. Do what ya gotta do man."

Just as he had done with his back and thighs, Heavy started gently on the left glute. Even though years of running had done Scout's ass no disservice, it also meant the muscles were as hard as granite. It wasn't long before thick thumbs were digging into the ridges that defined the muscle, searching for the spot that had caused all the trouble.

"Oh fuck, fuck, FUCK!" Scout bucked as Heavy pressed deep into the inflamed tendon. It hurt. It hurt beyond belief. But it was so, _so_ satisfying. Scout choked out a sob and quickly pressed his hips back onto the table. Stars tingled in front of his eyes as Heavy eased up slightly.

"Hmm," Heavy frowned, kneading the skin slowly. "Worse than thought. Might need second session."

Scout wasn't sure if he should be happy or horrified to hear this. He still didn't know why his body was reacting this much. It wasn't like he was attracted to this brute, jeeze! Scout guessed it was probably just because he hadn't been touched so intimately in a long time. Or ever, actually.

All he knew is that he really, really didn't want Heavy to get the wrong idea.

Each one of Heavy's hands had taken a cheek, and was now rolling them in tandem, easing the soreness right out of Scout's poor ass. Motherlicking Christ! Nothing had ever felt so good. Scout's breathing was becoming increasingly shallow. Fuck, if he came on this massage table right now, he'd probably have to leave the compound area and shoot himself to save face.

Fortunately, Heavy was wrapping up this session. He had finally moved on from Scout's bottom, carefully drawing the towel back in place, and was rubbing the boys back up and down in soothing strokes.

He stepped back and clapped his hands together, clearly satisfied with a job well done. "Doh hoho! Is done! How does baby Scout feel now?"

Scout could only lie on the table, motionless and speechless.

"Was good, yes? Scout should be fine for battle tomorrow."

It didn't appear to concern Heavy that Scout was incoherent. He moved away to wash his hands in the sink at the far end of the room, whistling cheerfully.

Scout continued to lie still, watching Heavy and waiting for his hammering heart to slow down. What had just happened here? It was like he had been shredded apart and put together in the best possible sense. He didn't think he could ever look at Heavy in the same way. Beneath that dim exterior and that intimidating stature was a veritable God of touch. Who knew?

Heavy looked down at Scout, who still hadn't moved from his position. The large man quirked an eyebrow and headed towards the door. "We are done for today. I will leave you be if promise to tidy room. Doktor will not be happy if you don't." He pushed the door open and looked over his shoulder. "Goodnight Scout. You will be in good form tomorrow. Promise."

The door snapped shut and Scout finally breathed out.

Reasonably assured that Heavy wouldn't return, Scout shakily sat up and threw his legs over the side of the table. Everything was in a strange dreamscape. His entire body felt like jelly and he nearly collapsed when his bare feet touched the ground.

With considerable effort he stumbled over to the door and made sure it was locked. The towel had slipped off his hips but he was beyond the point of caring. He braced himself against the wall and took a hold of his cock, hissing though his teeth at the touch.

His body was still covered in oil, so the entire affair was slick and fast. He came messily in his hand and for a long time could only lean against the wall panting and staring down with half lidded eyes at shaking hand which was now covered in sticky white fluid.

Eventually he composed himself enough to wipe himself down, and push the table to the back of the room. He unceremoniously threw the candles in the bin and collected his clothes. A slightly mystified Scout sighed again and flicked the lights off, before he headed off to take a long, cold shower.

Tomorrow was going to be an interesting day.


	2. Heavy Petting

Muscle Management

Chapter 2

* * *

At exactly six am Scout's eyes shot open. He was wide-awake and completely refreshed. There wasn't even a cursory morning yawn or grumble as he sprang out of bed with cat-like ease. His body was a fully charged battery. If moving had been easy before, now it was effortless.

He dressed and brushed his teeth eager to start the day. He could already tell it was going to be amazing. His limbs moved like hot butter and all he could think of doing was run as hard and as fast as he could manage. He looked up at the mirror above his basin and grinned, only taking a minute to admire his devilishly handsome reflection before bolting out the door.

The sun had begun to rise when he started laps around the compound. Streaks of gold and pink washed across sky, providing a glorious backdrop for Scout's soaring spirit. His legs moved beneath him, whirring like motors with a mind of their own. After the tenth lap he paused to take his pulse. He jogged on the spot and held fingers to his wrist, counting under his breath. He had barely hit 120 beats per minute.

Scout felt like he could run forever.

Eventually Scout had to return to the base for breakfast. When he sauntered into the mess hall he saw his teammates hunched around the table noticeably lacking the same chipper attitude. He tipped Sniper's hat back playfully. "How's it goin' ranger?"

"Piss off, wanker." Sniper readjusted his hat in irritation. His voice was deep and croaky and he nursed a cup of coffee in his hands, clinging to it like it was his only salvation. Sniper had never been a morning person.

At another time Scout might have taken Sniper's irritably as a challenge and returned an insult. Today all he could do was grin and shrug. He seated himself between Demoman and Spy (who quite frankly weren't in much better spirits) and helped himself to some heaping mounds of eggs and bacon that were offered on the table.

Spy, who was having his usual breakfast of cigarettes and black coffee, leaned away in distaste when Scout started hoeing into his food, using his fork more like a garden tool than cutlery. "Please Scout, do you really 'ave to be quite this disgusting so early in ze day?"

"Ummph grarph," Scout replied, sending flecks of egg onto Spy's designer Italian suit.

"You seem vell, Scout," observed Medic wryly as he buttered his toast. "I do hope you vill be feeling ze same vhen ve start fighting today."

"Ya better believe I will Doc." Scout flexed his bicep in a physical display of confidence for everyone sitting at the table. "Those BLU's betta be shakin' in their boots, cause I'm a force'a nature."

It didn't gain anyone's assurance, but right now Scout was feeling so good he couldn't give a flying crap. He knew he was at 110% today, and that was all that mattered.

Soldier and Heavy were the last members of the team to come in for breakfast. The Heavy lumbered in first, plodding like a sleepy bear and made a beeline for the food. Soldier, who was always ready for combat, marched in with his rocket launcher slung against his shoulder and turned to address the team.

"Today men, we fight not for liberty, but for victory!"

There was a small pause as some of the team cast Soldier a brief glance, before everyone returned to eating and morning chatter.

Soldier continued his speech unaffected. "We have suffered losses, troops. Terrible losses. Today is the day of retribution. If against all odds we do not succeed, I will personally hand out a cyanide capsule for each of you." He paused for dramatic effect before continuing. "Pain is not an excuse! Fear is not an excuse! DEATH is not an excuse! I fought off the eleventh battalion of the Third Reich with one leg, armed with nothing but a corkscrew and a hair curler. I expect the same devotion from you lackluster maggots." He smiled faintly at the fond memory before he pointed his rocket launcher at Scout like it was a laser pen. "Private, state your current condition!"

"Hey, you ain't got nothin' to worry about, okay."

"And what makes you so damn sure son? Yesterday you had the reflexes of an acid tripping hippie!"

"Uh, well…" Scout's eyes met Heavy's across the table. He couldn't just admit to everyone that he let this guy rub him up and down with cooking oil, even if it did turn him into an unstoppable dynamo. The memory of those large warm hands gliding across his skin made him shift uncomfortably in his seat. "I just… got some help okay! I'll be fine."

Heavy raised an eyebrow, but thankfully didn't speak up. He returned his attention to his food and the issue was forgotten. For now.

"Help huh? Well God help you son if you sabotage things for us again. Failure will not be tolerated. Do I make myself clear?"

"Yeah sure, whatever."

"I beg your pardon, private?"

"Um, sir yes sir?"

Satisfied, Solider finished with a salute and an about face. He marched towards a seat closest to the bacon.

* * *

Scout was so hyped up he couldn't stand still for even a second. He bounced and jogged up and down, impatient to get outside and start cracking skulls. The team was doing preliminary weapon checks, ammunition loading and silly hat selection in the battlements. Scout had his bat, pistol and loaded scattergun. Everything he needed. He could only lean against the wall and fidget while these chuckleheads wasted time.

He tilted his head up and groaned in frustration. He just wanted to friggin' blast people already. What was the hold up?

A large hand clapped down on his shoulder and startled him out of his thoughts.

"How does tiny Scout feel today? Leg is better, yes?"

Scout peered up at Heavy, his oversized proportions loomed over him and suddenly Scout felt awkward. His memory flashed back to the Doctor's office. He thought about the strength of those hands, kneading his aching muscles. The pressure. The pleasure… Scout stepped back a comfortable distance from Heavy, shifting his weight from foot to foot as a nervous habit. "Yeah, uh, I feel pretty great actually. Still kinda smell like hashbrowns, but my ass is heaps better. You got a real talent, big guy."

This must have pleased Heavy, because he placed his hands around Scout's waist and picked him up as easily as Styrofoam. He laughed heartily.

"Whoa, whoa! Waddaya think ya doin'? Put me DOWN."

Heavy put Scout gently back down on his feet. He hunched his shoulders apologetically. "Am sorry. Is just… am glad to be helpful. Was worried skills were rusty. If you feel any pain though, you must tell me, okay? We can fix later."

"Yeah sure, just don't do that again. And seriously, keep your voice down. Let's just keep this between you and me for now." Scout looked around the room. Some of the other team members were turning their heads to see what all the commotion was about.

"You do not want massages anymore?" Heavy frowned.

"Nah, nah! 'Course I do. It's just…" He wondered how he could delicately put it to Heavy that his services should be kept discreet. He realised he couldn't so he opted for the next best method. Diversion.

"Oh hey, is that a scratch on your gun?"

"Sacha?" Heavy's eyes went wide in alarm and he picked up his minigun to inspect it thoroughly.

Deciding that now was a good time to distance himself from Heavy, he found some reason to go and bother Engineer. "Yo Hardhat, need a dispenser ovah here!"

"Dangit boy," His ten-gallon hat bounced on his head as he turned around in irritation. "We haven't even started the darn battle yet!"

* * *

It was hard to imagine that only yesterday Scout was incapacitated. When the siren sounded he left the battlements in a blur. His rapid recovery must have been a shock to almost everyone on the team, because in the periphery of his vision he saw them looking on open mouthed as he left a cloud of dust in his wake. Heavy of course was still fretting over his weapon while Engineer made the final adjustments to a shiny new dispenser.

_Yes_! He thought as he kicked his legs and double-jumped across the bridge towards the BLU base. _Scout is fuckin' back in action. _

Scout had become so agile it actually took some adjustment. He thought he had carefully calculated his jump to bat a BLU Pyro right in the gas mask only to completely spring over his target. He nearly landed in front of a sentry, and it was only by the skin of his teeth and some quick thinking that he wasn't waking up in the respawn room.

The battle was particularly heated today. The RED team was sore about their previous losses and were gunning for revenge. Heavy bellowed as Sacha mowed down the onslaught that the BLU's were throwing at them. The juxtaposition between a humble Russian masseur and a bloodthirsty lord-of-war really was something to behold. Medic had taken his place right behind him to pump healing rays into the large man, screaming German expletives at the BLU's. The energy of battle was high today, and it made Scout vibrate with exhilaration.

He had managed to make his way up to the BLU battlements. A bullet pinged right past his head, embedding itself in the concrete wall behind him. He ducked and discovered just how close he was to the BLU Sniper, who now was hastily reloading his rifle.

"Bugger this," the Sniper muttered before he pulled out his Kukri and started to throw wild swings at Scout.

"Whoa fuck!" He dodged a swing that was close enough to shave some hairs from his head. The Sniper pushed forward, backing him into a corner. Scout pulled out his bat and thought about taking the Sniper on in some kind of strange weapons duel, but he knew this kind of close range combat wasn't his strength.

It was a spark of inspiration, or maybe just some primal instinct that reared up inside him from the adrenaline coursing through his veins but Scout did something he had never done before.

Keeping one eye on the advancing Sniper, he took three steps back before taking a running jump at the wall. His body had taken over by this point and Scout was cool with that because he couldn't trust his brain half the time. The bottoms of his trainers made contact with the concrete and before he knew it he was airborne. He kept his body tight and somersaulted right over the Sniper's stupid crocodile hat. His heels hit the ground with a thud.

He had just pulled off a back flip. He actually pulled that shit off! He was a freaking ninja!

The BLU Sniper obviously couldn't believe it either, because he was frozen and blinking stupidly at the wall, Kukri still clenched in his hand.

Scout didn't waste any more time and swung his bat to 'BONK' the Sniper in the back of his skull with enormous satisfaction.

Sniper crumpled, and Scout cheered his victory. "Whoo hoo hoo! Anyone one else wanna piece'a me? Nah, I didn't think so."

Unfortunately Scout didn't have much time to gloat. The BLU Pyro rounded the corner and bathed Scout in a blistering inferno. It didn't matter though. Scout woke up in resupply still grinning.

* * *

It wasn't long before Scout's newfound acrobatic skills were giving the RED's a much-needed advantage.

His flexibility made it far easier to dodge projectiles and balance just wasn't a problem anymore. He even discovered a new technique to avoid direct fire from his enemy by standing on their shoulders and beating their heads in as they twirled in confused circles.

Of course, the objective was to capture the enemy intelligence. He was having so much fun running rings around the BLU Demoman that he almost forgot what his purpose was. It only took a few heated remarks from the RED Soldier to remind him what exactly he was supposed to be doing.

"Are you going to retrieve the intelligence any time soon private, or are you too busy fixing the holes in your stockings?"

"Hey, I'm on it alright! Don't get ya panties in a bunch."

Scout dashed though the BLU base, side stepping a Spy that futilely attempted to back stab him. When he finally located the intelligence and strapped it to his back, even the bulky briefcase seemed lighter today.

By now the BLU team had cottoned on to the fact that Scout was a serious threat to them. So when Scout emerged from their base, leaving a paper trail of Intel in his wake, he was face to face with the entire arsenal of the Builders League United.

Scout could see backup coming for him on the far side of the bridge. It was useless. A swarm of BLU mercenaries were surrounding him and he knew it would be too late before any help arrived. Fuck, a Pyro was flanking him on the left and Scout really didn't feel like being cremated again. The BLU Heavy was the closest and he could hear the tell-tale sound of his minigun charging. This meant that Scout had approximately 2.5 seconds to figure out how to get out of this. Yeah, piece'a cake.

The BLU soldier was overeager as usual and let loose a close-range rocket whilst screaming "Maggot!" On another day Scout would have accepted that he was royally screwed and reassessed his strategy after respawn.

Today though, Scout had a serious chip on his shoulder and fuck if he was going to lose another fight.

In movement so fast you might have thought he was under the influence of BONK soda, Scout jumped and kicked off the rocket a split second before impact.

He was propelled upwards by the force of it, feeling the heat of the explosion lick his heels. Like a child jumping across stones in a pond, he hopped from head to head of the BLU team, creating a path towards the bridge and avoiding the hail of bullets they were spewing at him. He had to leap a little further to land on the helmet of the BLU Engineer, who cursed at him in colourful Texas slang before Scout used all the power in his legs to bound up and land on the awning of the bridge.

He risked some valuable time to give them the finger, before dashing back to the RED base.

"Victory."

* * *

It was every bit the celebration that Scout had hoped for. He was enduring painful thumps to the back as Soldier congratulated him and forced a cigar between his teeth. Demoman was taking personal charge to make sure everyone was supplied with an alcoholic beverage (this was a party he had started on many hours before).

"You know where that cigar was made son? America! I don't support any of that pinko Cuban crap."

"Oh, so zhat is why it tastes like burning excrement?" Sniffed Spy, who was contentedly smoking his own national brand of cigarettes.

"It's the flavour of freedom. Something you wouldn't understand, you croissant munching surrender monkey!"

Pyro nearly melted Scout's face off when he lit the cigar with a burst of his flamethrower. Scout was still too young to have developed a fully-fledged nicotine habit, so he took some awkward coughing puffs and patted out the small fire that had developed on his chest.

Demoman was really getting into the spirit of things and threw an arm around Scout's shoulder to draw him in close. "I ne'er seen a thing like it laddy. Yae were like some mythical beastie today. Och! When ye flew over tha' Soldier, I couldn't believe me own eyeball!" He pushed a cup into Scout's hands, filled to the brim with acrid liquid.

While Scout appreciated the compliments, he really couldn't endure Demoman's booze breath for much longer. He pulled away from the drunkard, making sure his drink didn't spill everywhere. He took a tentative sip, taking a moment to savor its unique tang, before spluttering in the manliest way he could manage. Somewhere in the fermentation process Demoman's scrumpy stopped being alcohol and started being battery acid. Scout drank another mouthful because he wasn't a pussy or anything.

He couldn't quite shake the niggling sense of guilt that had formed in the back of his mind. A lot of the credit really should be going to Heavy, whom with his gift of touch had unleashed the potential of Scout's body. Scout took another sip of the vile brew and moved to the back of the room, avoiding the hub of the crowd. He didn't want to draw any more attention to himself than necessary.

Heavy was talking to Medic over in the far corner. He had his own paper cup of scrumpy, which was so small compared to his frame that he only needed to hold it between his thumb and forefinger. He looked up and noticed Scout was alone, so he politely excused himself from the Doctor's company and headed over to join Scout.

"Leetle Scout did well today."

Scout held his cup tightly and twirled a smoldering cigar with his other hand, happy to leave it unsmoked. "Yeah, we sure showed those BLU's alright." He chuckled nervously.

"Da. We did."

There were a few moments of silence between them, and that always made Scout uneasy. He started to ramble just to fill the void. "Uh hey, listen… I just gotta thank ya. You really saved my ass. Like, literally. I mean uh, at first I didn't think it would actually work, y'know. But like, then I went running and…" He trailed off, embarrassed by his inarticulate gushing. To his surprise Heavy chuckled kindly and placed a large hand on Scout's head.

"Is good to know I can help. Is nothing really."

The scrumpy was starting to take effect and Scout's face warmed a little. He glanced up at the large man smiling down at him and had to quickly look away again.

"But uh," He casually glanced around the room. Everyone was too drunk or preoccupied to overhear this conversation. He cleared his throat and continued. "I think I overdid it today. Shouldn'ta pushed so hard, cause in the last ten minutes my leg started seizing up again." He lifted his leg up again to demonstrate. It was faint, but he could definitely feel the uncomfortable sensation of tightening muscles flaring up once more.

"Mmm," Heavy tilted his head and his eyes raked down Scout's body. "Is not big surprise. I did not think one session would fix problem. If you like we could go again tonight."

Scout took another sip of scrumpy just so he had something to occupy his fidgeting hands. "Yeah. Yeah, that'd be great."

"Good! Same time tonight yes? There are some muscles I will work on that we did not have time for yesterday. Will keep Scout credit to team."

"Ok, sure. Lookin' forward to it." Scout watched Heavy re-join the party before the tilted his cup up and downed the last of his drink.

* * *

The party raged on for quite some time before it ended in the usual way. With Demoman passing out in a pool of his own vomit and Soldier getting into a fistfight with Spy over cultural differences. Compared to some of the other outcomes from past celebrations, it was deemed a success.

Therefore Scout was still slightly tipsy when he wandered down the corridor to the Doctor's office that night. He was in a good mood, but as he drew closer to the door that uncomfortable knot in his stomach became harder to ignore.

There was some exceptionally irritating music wafting down the hall. When he reached the door he realised that it was coming from inside the office. Scout turned the handle with some reluctance and stepped inside.

Heavy was standing over an old fashioned gramophone with his eyes closed, humming along to some fruity classical composition.

"Ahh, the fuck?"

The sound of Scout's voice broke Heavy out of his trance. He turned around enthusiastically and waved his hand at the room, which was set up like last time, thankfully sans the candles.

"Scout is here! Very good. When you are ready we can start."

Scout took a long look at the record player and pointed towards it questioningly. Did he even need to ask?

"Scout did not like candles last time. I thought maybe music is better for mood. Is nice yes? Tchaikovsky."

"No man. It ain't. Turn it off before I break it."

Heavy slumped his shoulders petulantly, but he acquiesced. The music came to an abrupt halt and he grumbled about Scout's lack of appreciation for the higher arts. His annoyance was minor though, because he returned to his usual jovial self as soon as Scout started to undress.

Scout was shucking off his pants when Heavy went to retrieve the oil bottle. While the man's back was turned Scout used the opportunity to physically assess him. It was strange. For someone so large he had been so inconsequential to Scout before now. Their interactions had never been meaningful, and rarely was there an opportunity for them to cooperate during battle. Heavy had simply been a large dumb figure, slightly faded in the background. Scout was a bit ashamed that he had given Heavy so little respect. He wasn't going to throw himself to the floor and beg for forgiveness or anything, but yeah, maybe he'd be a little nicer from now on.

"So, if you lie down on table, we will begin. Maybe tomorrow Scout will be able to fly?"

Scout didn't think much of Heavy's humor but he could tolerate it if it meant another mind-meltingly good massage. He hoisted himself on the table, gripping his towel to keep it slipping off. He was tingling with anticipation for what was about to come. Was it normal to want this so much? Scout decided this was a question that was best pushed to the furthest most reaches of his conscience. He didn't have the emotional maturity to deal with that kind of shit.

The warm skin of Scout's belly touched the surface of the table as he lay across it. This time however, he kept Heavy within his line of sight. He was developing a fascination for those magic hands of his.

The first skin-to-skin contact helped switch Scout into primal mode. He just focused on the fingers trailing his spine and before long his chattering brain started to quiet. Warm palms kneaded his shoulders. Yeah, that was nice…

It was similar to last time. Heavy did spend extra time working on places that were only touched upon previously. Thumbs kneaded the base of Scout's neck in slow, methodical strokes. Scout hummed his appreciation for this and tilted his head to allow Heavy more access. He flicked his eyes up to see Heavy deep in concentration. The large man's eyes were almost closed, sensing Scout's body more than seeing.

Scout was still running off a buzz from the alcohol, so his inhibitions were dangerously low that night. He breathed out a sigh of contentment when Heavy moved on from his neck and started to squeeze his shoulder blades and decided now was as good a time as any to strike up conversation. "So why did ya learn to do this anyway? I mean, you used to be a boxer right? This is kinda girly hobby to have for meat punching knuckle machine."

"Is not so different really." Heavy murmured, taking his time to slide his hands up Scout's back.

Scout thought about that for a second. Then his eyes crossed in confusion. "Uh, beating the living snot out of another guy's face is like this, _how_?"

"If you know how to hurt a man, should also know how to make feel good, da? Knowing this skill, it is… valuable."

"I mean-uhhhrg!" Scout was interrupted when Heavy did a particularly wonderful thing to his lower back. "I mean, I ain't complainin'. Feels fuckin' great. It's just… you gotta touch dudes everywhere."

"Not always. Women too. Sometimes even pretty ones," He chuckled. "But most of time men, yes."

"Yeah but _why_?" Scout just couldn't wrap his head around it.

Heavy only shrugged, "I like it."

That was the best answer Scout was going to extract from Heavy, so he dropped the issue and just let the man keep working on him.

Heavy was now down to the legs again, stretching and kneading them with those wonderful, amazing hands of his. Scout wondered about these other men that Heavy had so much practice with. They had probably been other fat sweaty Russians. Somehow, even that thought wasn't enough to dampen the physical reaction jolting through Scout's body. It was minor right now, but the massage wasn't over yet. Scout would just have to hang tight.

Scout also discovered that the backs of his knees were incredibly sensitive. He squawked when Heavy tickled his thumb in the dip.

Heavy thought this was funny, and achieved the same reaction by repeating his actions to the other leg. "Leetle Scout is ticklish!"

"Hey, cut that out! I'll kick ya in the teeth."

Still smiling, Heavy gave Scout's sensitive areas a break and began work on his calves. He paused for a moment, hands cupping the delicate taper of Scout's ankles. "Legs are nice. Like woman."

Scout pushed himself up by the elbows and threw a glare over his shoulder. "Fuck man, don't say that!"

Heavy shrugged. "Is true. Am not trying to offend. Scout has nice healthy body. Maybe a leetle small, but should be proud."

If Heavy hadn't been doing heavenly things to Scout's feet he would have been out the door by now. He folded his arms under his chin and huffed, willing to endure emasculating comments so long as those slick palms kept working their way up his legs. It made his spine tingle and his head light. It really was that good.

They were reaching that point of high intensity when Heavy started to push his fingers deep into the muscle, really searching to coax out all that hidden tension. "Aw jeeze…" Scout moaned, resisting the urge to squirm away. He loved it, he hated it and he wished it would never end.

There wasn't a sore inch of skin that Heavy neglected. At one point Scout was sure that Heavy put his elbow into his back and readjusted his spine. Scout's heart began to beat faster and his face heated up from all the amazing sensations.

It might have been the alcohol, or just the circumstance that contributed to it, but suddenly Scout's imagination was assaulted with a vision that was entirely uninvited. He could see himself lying on his back panting and writhing. Heavy loomed over him, holding Scout's legs over his head and fucking him so hard the table shook.

Scout was so appalled at his brain that he actually screamed out loud. Heavy paused from his ministrations, startled at Scout's outburst.

For a moment Scout was overcome with irrational paranoia that somehow Heavy could read his mind. He peeked over his shoulder and up at Heavy who was staring at him quizzically.

"Did I hurt you?"

Scout sighed in relief and rested his head back on his arms. "Kinda, but I don't remember telling ya to stop."

The awkward moment was over, and Heavy began to stroke Scout's back again albeit slightly more restrained. Scout's relaxed body belied the utter turmoil that his mind was going through right now. It didn't help that he had a boner again or that Heavy had begun working on his buttocks and was doing some kind of pizza dough kneading technique. It was the curse of a young body. Or, at least that's what Scout told himself.

Heavy worked on his backside for a good ten minutes, occasionally making comments about his improved efficiency out in the battlefield. Scout hhm'd and haa'd, not actually listening to anything that Heavy was saying. Everything would be over soon and he could lock himself in his room with a shit ton of dirty magazines and purge this incident from his memory.

Heavy pulled the towel back up over Scout's hips when he was done. He let his oily palms linger on Scout's back for long enough that Scout looked up to find out what was going on.

"Scout," his voice rumbled, much deeper than usual. "If you like, I can… fix _other_ problem."

"Uh," a bead of sweat dripped down Scout's forehead. "I don't know what you're talkin' about."

Heavy laughed softly and a hand gently squeezed Scout's shoulder. "Do not think I did not notice. You are man. Is only natural."

Oooooh shit.

Scout turned his head to look at Heavy, eyes wide in panic. "Fuck, it's nothin' like that! I just… you were…"

Heavy stooped down until they were eye level and returned Scout's gaze. He was the picture of calm. He kept a hand on Scout's back and rubbed it in soothing circles. "Is nothing to be ashamed of. Sometimes would do this special service back at home. Is very enjoyable if you trust."

Scout's mortification edged over to let some of his curiosity in on the conversation. "Wait, what? You've done this before? To other guys?"

Heavy shrugged. "They liked it."

Scout looked at him incredulously.

"Was also good for money." Heavy admitted.

"Aww jeeze." Scout breathed, wishing he could just crawl into a ball from the sheer weight of humiliation.

"We do not have to. No pressure. Is only an option." Heavy stood up again and made his way over to the sink to wipe his hands on a cloth. He looked nonchalant until he threw a sly glance at Scout. "But, it maybe help Scout fight tomorrow. Not good for leetle man to be so tense."

Scout had heard of these 'rub and tug' parlors as his brothers used to call them when he was growing up in Boston. He had never did patronage one. Firstly because he was underage, and secondly because he had no idea where to find one. It didn't stop him dreaming about it though. He was a hot-blooded young man after all. Now tonight he was presented with the opportunity to have all secret fantasies could come true, except fuck, it was Heavy. _Not_ sexy.

None of that meant he had any less of an erection straining against the table. He squeezed his eyes shut and pressed his forehead to the table. Some of his resolve crumbled, and in a quiet voice Scout asked, "It'll really make me fight better tomorrow?"

"Oh da," Heavy sounded pleased. "Like warrior."

"And if we, you know, do this… ya won't tell no one?"

"Is sacred oath to keep session private."

"Well…" Scout's mouth suddenly went dry, "okay fine. But this don't make me a queer or nothin'."

"Not at all. Is only to help relax." Heavy approached Scout who still had his face pressed against the table. "You will feel much better after." He wiggled his fingers, motioning for Scout to move. "If you turn over we can begin work on front."

Scout realised that this was probably his last opportunity to back out of this arrangement. But, like in almost every other circumstance, it wasn't Scout's brain that was doing the thinking for him. Scout's cock twitched and that was all the encouragement he needed. He sucked a breath in, slowly turned over and pressed his back flat against the table. He still had his towel wrapped around his waist, but the tent at the front was obvious.

His wide eyes turned to Heavy; a silent plea for the big guy to be gentle.

The corner of Heavy's mouth turned upwards, and he retrieved the oil bottle. He took his time to warm the amber liquid in his palms before he began.

Scout wasn't sure what he was supposed to expect, but he was pretty sure it would involve his cock. So, he was surprised when Heavy took a hand in his own large ones and started to gently knead the fleshy part of his palm.

"Did you know," Heavy's voice was still deep and husky, "that the body has points all over. They are erotic zones. Can drive man wild."

"Uh, okay?" Scout wasn't sure what to make of that. He was staring up at the ceiling trying to focus on the feeling and not so much the reality of the situation. He didn't know much about erotic zones but he was pretty sure his dick was one of them.

Heavy chuckled and moved his fingers up from Scout's palm, trailing them down to the crook of the elbow.

Scout squirmed. This was a completely different kind of touch from earlier. This was softer. Sensual. It felt nice and everything but he just kind of wished that Heavy would get it over and done with. Scout had been rocket launched out of his comfort zone just by agreeing to this.

Heavy's hands travelled to his collarbone, almost ghosting across the skin before he moved upwards and placed a thumb on each side of Scout's head, kneading his temples in a slow, hypnotic rhythm. It felt weird. Scout almost made a scathing comment about it, but something amazing began to happen before the words even reached his lips.

Instead of an all-round massage, Heavy was pin-pointing areas. He spent time to massage and stroke each spot before he moved on the next one. After each area it felt like more of his blood rushed to Scout's straining erection. His skin was on fire and his jaw went slack with awe. He panted as his body filled with a burning energy. It built every time Heavy unlocked another area. His chest. His navel. The balls of his feet. Places Scout wouldn't have even given two thoughts about otherwise.

He had yet to give any attention to Scout's weeping cock, but somehow Scout felt he was being pushed to his absolute limit. "H-how," he gasped, "how the fuck are you doin' this? Uuurggh!"

His hips bucked upwards. Heavy didn't even bat an eye. He was in cool control, slowly working his way down to his hips. He drew the towel back, completely exposing Scout to the cool night air.

"Oh shit! Ahhh!" Scout threw his head back, wracked with delirium. What the hell was going on? He was the horniest he had ever felt in his life, and yet Heavy hadn't even touched the important parts yet.

Right now it didn't matter that Heavy was a man. It didn't matter that he was his teammate or that this might have been pushing the limits of professional conduct. All Scout knew was that Heavy was some kind of deity and Scout would do absolutely anything for him if it meant sweet release. Words failed him now, so he could only beg Heavy with wide imploring eyes.

Finally, _finally_ Heavy got down to business. He re-oiled his palms and with a warm gentle palm gripped Scout at the base of his cock. Some of the oil trickled down Scout's testicles, making him squirm at the sensation.

"Get on with it!" He hissed, unable to endure much more.

Scout had personally witnessed Heavy punching a man's face inside out. These same hands were now tenderly enveloping his cock, working their way up and down. The oil eliminated any friction. Heavy kneaded the final pressure point, just beneath the base of Scout's balls.

No one had ever touched Scout like this. In fact, Scout didn't even know you could be touched like this. Heavy was in perfect control, taking Scout to the edge only to pull away at the last moment. He repeated this several times.

"Haaa ahhhh! AHH! Please, please, please!" Scout sobbed and begged. All dignity was forgotten at Heavy's touch.

Making eye contact with Heavy was what finally pushed him over the edge. He came in violent spurts and when he thought he was done he realized that he was still coming. Heavy's hand continued to move up and down, milking Scout until he made sure there was nothing left.

It took a whole minute for Scout's vision to clear. The pounding of his heart and the sound of rushing blood in his ears just wouldn't relent.

Distantly he was aware that Heavy was drawing the towel back over Scout for modesty. He walked around the room cleaning up and clearing equipment with the nonchalance of a man who hadn't just jerked of his fellow college in the sake of naturopathic therapy.

He was finished before Scout could even find the strength to blink his eyes. "Leetle Scout might need some time. Sometimes first time is too much to handle. You will be fine tomorrow. I see you at breakfast. We will talk then."

Heavy left the room, quietly closing the door behind him.

Scout lay on the massage table, in that small room located within the 2Fort base for half an hour. He couldn't even twitch a finger. It took him that long to gather his wits and recover from the most intense orgasm he had ever had in his life. When he finally was able to move, he could barely crawl to retrieve his clothes.

Scout wondered how he could look at Heavy tomorrow, let alone talk to him.

He left for the showers. He didn't even bother to turn off the lights.


	3. Second Thoughts

A short chapter to tide you over. Enjoy!

* * *

That night an unseasonal storm broke over 2Fort. Rain was dumped over the compound and continued into the morning. The problem with a dusty location such as 2Fort wasn't so much the dust, but rather what it became when it mixed with water. Outside was now an impenetrable slurry of mud. Battles had been postponed for the day.

While this might have come as a welcome relief to some war-weary men, it couldn't have been worse timing for Scout.

At six in the morning, fresh as a daisy, Scout could only stare out his window in anguish. He had more energy than a speed addict and absolutely no outlet to relieve it. His pressed his nose up against the glass and sighed in frustration. Droplets raced down the window as a cruel reminder that he couldn't control the weather.

You know what? Fuck it! Scout decided that a little water wasn't going to kill him. He had to get out and he had to get out _now_. He wasn't used to waking up with the vivid recollection that he had let another man give him a hand-job. Sure, maybe it was possibly the best, most explosively amazing hand job he had ever had in his life, but that was beside the point. He had let another man give him a hand job, and that just didn't fly right. He decided that whatever black magic Heavy was using was going to end. Effective immediately.

He took the headset of his cap so the water wouldn't damage it before shoving the hat down on his head. He was thankful for the solitude that early mornings provided him. He wasn't in the mood to make small talk with anyone right now.

He bolted outside and into the deluge, attempting to leave his confused thoughts behind.

An hour later Scout returned to the base. He was absolutely soaked to the bone and panting heavily. Mud had splattered so far up his body that he had to wipe it off his cheeks.

The run helped to relieve some of the pent up energy but it was frustratingly ineffectual as stopping his mind's inner replay of last night. It was currently stuck on loop and it was irritating the shit out of him.

On his way to the showers he bumped into Sniper who was heading to the mess hall. Still in his morning haze, Sniper had to pause and stare for a moment before he knew what he was looking at. "Christ mate, you look like a drowned dingo."

Scout took the cap off his head and wrung the water out of it. "Oh really? Didn't notice. Thanks for the update pal."

"Might want to clean up quick. You'll miss brekkie."

"Yeah, okay. Got the message." Scout jogged away leaving muddy footprints behind him. He had been intending to skip breakfast anyway. Somehow the idea of eating with everyone today left a sour taste in his mouth.

He chose to go the long way to the showers, making sure to avoid the dormitory. He didn't want to risk bumping into any more teammates, or to be more precise, one fat Russian teammate. He raked a hand through his bedraggled hair and tried to shake twisted thoughts from his head.

Scout was so eager to get out of his sopping clothes that he sprinted through the door to the showers. He was still lost in his thoughts, so it wasn't until he was barreling chest-first into a solid wall of flesh that he finally snapped back to reality. He landed on his ass with a thud.

Heavy blinked down at the grounded Scout in surprise. He looked like he had just finished showering. He had a towel wrapped around his broad paunch and another slung over his shoulder. The air was still thick with steam and his skin glistened with moisture.

"Leetle Scout is wet?"

His usual retort of 'no shit, Sherlock' fell dead in Scout's mouth. He could only gaze up at Heavy, petrified. He couldn't even pick himself up from the floor.

"Did Scout run in rain? This is not good. Will catch cold."

Still caught in an uncharacteristic stupor, Scout didn't protest when Heavy squatted down and effortlessly hoisted him to his feet. Heavy gripped him by the shoulders and leaned in to study the frozen man.

"Is Scout sick? Is not saying so much?" He pressed a large palm against Scout's forehead checking his temperature. He expression grew stern and he moved to tug at Scout's shirt.

This was enough to snap Scout out of his trance. "Whoah!" He grabbed Heavy by the wrists, halting his attempts. "Whatta ya doing?"

Heavy frowned. "Scout is sick. Should get out of wet clothes."

"No I ain't fuckin' sick!" He took a large step away from Heavy. He was still completely caught off-guard by this unexpected meeting. "Sides, even if I was I can undress by my freaking self."

There was an awkward moment of silence between them. Scout held his dripping shirt down and became increasingly aware that how intimidating Heavy was with all that bare skin exposed. He swallowed. His mouth had suddenly become very dry.

Heavy was first to break the pause. "So Scout is feeling okay?"

"Feel fine, man. I just… got caught in the rain."

He didn't know what do exactly. It was a bit strange to be having such a casual conversation. Especially in the shower room while Heavy was in a towel and _especially_ because this half-naked man had jerked him off last night. His immediate instinct was to flee from the situation, but a small part of Scout knew how ridiculous that would be. For now he stayed put, stuck in this awkward limbo with Heavy.

"Well," Heavy adjusted the towel around his hips, "this is good. Would be bad if Scout was sick again so soon."

Heavy moved to retrieve his clothes and Scout sidestepped to let him pass. "Is shame there are no battles today. Was funny to see the BLU babies cry yesterday!" He laughed loudly and wandered towards the lockers. "Scout was credit to team. You can always come to me if there is problem, yes?"

Scout was still standing in place and a small puddle had now collected around his feet. The muscles of Heavy's back rippled as he bent down to collect his pants. When the towel fell from his hips Scout knew this was his cue to hightail it out of there.

"Right! I better… shower now."

He ducked straight into the closest shower cubicle and pressed his body against the tiled wall. He smacked his forehead knowing how stupid he must have looked running into a shower without even taking his clothes off.

"Scout should be quick!" The Heavy called out to him. "Do not want to miss breakfast."

Scout stayed like that until he was sure Heavy had left. He breathed out a sigh of relief. He stripped off his sodden clothing and turned on the faucet to a scalding temperature. He wasn't going to think about Heavy and his amazing hands anymore. He was just going to get on with his fucking life even if that meant avoiding Heavy for the rest of the war.

* * *

Scout endured a very unsatisfying breakfast of beef jerky and a warm can of soda he'd been keeping under his bed. Today was going to be agony and he knew it. After pacing his room several times he looked at clock. Approximately five minutes had passed. Okay, this wasn't going to be a long-term strategy for avoiding boredom.

Rain pelted his window and a distant rumble of thunder echoed. He lightly slapped his face a few times. This wasn't right. He absolutely could not get Heavy off his mind. He shouldn't have enjoyed what he did so much and he _sure as hell_ shouldn't want it to happen again. But he did. Desperately. So Scout stayed in his bedroom and continued to pace.

Lunchtime came and went. By four o'clock Scout was going out of his mind. He banged his head against his desk, just wishing he had the opportunity to shoot someone in the face. Anyone. His finger would curl around that trigger and squeeze it oh so slowly. The sound of the gunshot would ring in his ears before warm blood splattered across his face. He'd taste it on his lips and relish the copper flavour. Yeah, the battlefield was where it was. Fuck sitting in his room.

It was at that point Scout noticed he had an erection.

"Aw jeeze." He adjusted pants to give himself more room. He knew he was an excitable guy, but he'd thought he had more control over his libido than this.

It didn't take much deliberation. He fell to his knees to and scrabbled under his bed to retrieve his secret shoebox. When his fingers touched the cardboard he heaved a sigh of relief. He was always slightly paranoid that Solider would stumble across it during one of his 'authorized' room checks.

This was his prized treasure chest. It was where every slightly arousing picture he could get his hands on ended up. There were plenty of torn out catalogue pages as well as some posters of calendar girls he'd sourced from various places. He even had a few Polaroids of genuinely naked girls that his god-sent older brothers had sent him. If this wasn't the antidote to faggoty, he didn't know what was.

He leafed through his collection and picked out a choice picture. In a brochure selling women's underwear, they'd used a red haired bombshell as the model. She had a black garter belt riding up her voluptuous thigh and a rack you could just bury your face into. This picture was so manhandled that Scout had to keep it in a plastic sleeve to save it from disintegrating.

He sat up from his haunches to pull his pants down around his thighs. He didn't even bother sitting on his bed, instead he kneeled with his forehead pressed against the mattress. He hummed in appreciation as he looked down at this picture, imaging the nameless vixen pressing herself against him and sliding her tongue down his chest.

"Aww yeah, just like that" He mumbled, stroking his cock in a quick rhythm. "I got everything you need baby."

His simplistic fantasy began to take a strange turn. Somehow her perfectly manicured hands caressing his body began to distort. They grew larger, hairier and, with astounding strength, held him down to the ground. "Is leetle Scout enjoying this?" She said in a thick Russian accent.

"No, no, no!" Scout opened his eyes and let his vision dematerialize. Okay, that wasn't working for him. He threw the picture back in the box and picked out another. Ah ha! A grainy newspaper clipping of Brigitte Bardot. Perfect. She and Scout had had many a rendezvous in his imagination. He licked his lips and started again.

With this new girl fresh in his mind, Scout started the pick up the pace, jerking his hips back in forth in time with his thrusts. Oh yeah. He had Brigitte bent over a table and moaning for him, her blond hair in a wild mane framing her expression of ecstasy. He slid his hands over her smooth rump and gave it a squeeze. Getting more comfortable, he gripped the bed with one hand and arched his back. "Come on, come on!" He hissed to himself. For whatever reason, this foolproof fantasy just wasn't hitting the mark. This was taking far longer than usual, and his frantic stroking was starting to chafe.

The situation was getting desperate. He began to pull out every erotic fantasy his mind could conjure. Threesomes. Spanking schoolgirls. Tit fucking. None of it was enough. Scout desperately rifled through his pictures looking for one that could bring him over the edge.

Scout dipped his hand into the box and picked out a picture at random. It was a Polaroid of his brother's girlfriend bent towards the camera, cupping her weighty breasts in her hands. She was slightly on the larger side and not normally his first choice for jerkoff material. As he thought about her weight and what exactly his brother was doing when that picture was taken, his imagination took a sudden detour. He was back in Medic's office, laying across a cold bench with Heavy looming over him. His hands were manipulating Scout's body in ways he couldn't fathom and suddenly he was his hands and knees, taking in every inch of the great Russian.

Scout's own frenzied technique fell woefully short of Heavy's controlled skill, but this fragment of a memory was enough to let him come with a muffled cry.

A long silence followed. Scout listened to his own rasping breath subside. He looked down and discovered that his brother's Polaroid was now splattered with globules of come. He wiped if off with a nearby sock, returned it to the pile and pushed the box back under the bed.

Fuck. Scout pressed his face against the bed in grief.

Heavy had officially broken him.


	4. Lessons

So yeah. I guess there was a slight delay with this chapter. I got a full-time job and also I guess I was just lazy. Such is life.

* * *

By early evening the rain had cleared. Scout's window was partially open, and clear, crisp air drifted across him.

He rolled over on his bed with a groan, burying his face in his pillow. He knew he couldn't stay in his room forever. Eventually he'd have to face the day. He'd have to talk to his teammates, interact with Heavy, and pretend like he had never indulged in a homoerotic fantasy about the man. Scout pulled a blanket over his head and heaved another sigh.

It had been more than a day since their last 'session'. Scout could already feel a distant twinge in his backside, demanding more special treatment. He rubbed his ass with the flat of his palm, which did little to alleviate the irritation. He rolled over once more in frustration. How did Heavy make it look so easy?

After once last blink at his cracked ceiling, Scout finally mustered enough enthusiasm to hoist his legs over the edge of the bed. He sat there for a moment, tempted to just to flop back on his bed and forget the day. It was only until his stomach growled that he finally found the motivation to stand up.

It was an uneventful journey to the kitchen. Through the cheap plywood walls he could hear the sounds of his teammates embroiled in a poker game. Scout was relieved to have the distraction. He wasn't sure if he could explain his absence today, or if he could even face anyone just yet.

Dinner had come and gone. Scout was reduced to raiding the fridge for whatever leftovers that had survived the onslaught. It was an ordinary dinner of cold rib and pickle sandwiches. He chewed on it thoughtfully as he listened to the din of a heated argument in the neighbouring room. The poker game had clearly taken a downward turn. He ducked his head as a spray of bullets shot through the wall, scattering a plume of plaster across the rows of tables. The arguing was silenced, but only for the briefest of moments before it started up again, twice as passionate.

Deciding staying in the kitchen was more of a risk to his health and safety than he could be bothered with; he hastily wolfed down the rest of his meal. There was a large sign over the sink reading: '_Keep America Clean, Maggots! Wash Your Dishes'_. Scout dumped his plate under it, adding to the already substantial pile, and headed back to his room.

Scout rubbed his stomach in satisfaction, feeling slightly less edgy with some food in his belly. He shoved his hands in his pockets as he walked down the empty hallway of the RED barracks. After so much time stationed here, almost all the mercenaries had customised their doors to give them a little more homely charm. Solider had ornamented his with long coils of barbed wire, which Sniper had discovered were electrified after one unfortunate night of inebriation and an urgently full bladder. Engineer had a reinforced steel door, keeping out any nosy busybodies, or (according to Demoman's theories) containing some unspeakable creation inside. The Spy at least had modicum of taste with an autographed pinup of a busty starlet in a bathing suit.

Save for a few bullet holes, there was only one door that remained as bare and plain as it was the day they had moved in. Scout passed it without thought, before hesitating and making a few hasty backtracks to give it another look.

Heavy's room. Scout had never considered it before, but after recent events curiosity started to creep down his spine. Heavy was always so evasive about his personal life, and almost every conversation would lead back to the subject of heavy-duty artillery, sidestepping any personal details. What tantalising secrets to his past lay behind that door? The last few had certainly given Scout some food for thought. Distantly he could still hear the sounds of the raucous poker game. He'd have more than enough time to take a quick look around. Who would even notice?

He gripped the handle. For small moment an uncharacteristic flicker of guilt washed through him. Was it wrong to invade Heavy's privacy like this?

Not giving himself another chance for second thoughts, Scout slipped inside, shutting the door firmly behind him. He took a deep breath and turned to lay his eyes on this dark den of mystery.

"Aww," he muttered in disappointment. Heavy's room was unremarkable. It was understandably larger than Scout's, but unlike Scout's room, he didn't have to kick a path through mounds of soda cans and dirty shirts to walk across the floor. Instead, what little possessions Heavy did have were neatly arranged and kept in order. There was a chipped wooden desk with a large map of the USSR on the wall above it. A few writing utensils and an ink well sat on the polished wood. Beside the desk was a small bookshelf with a few well-worn books, with titles all printed in Cyrillic. They provided few hints to Heavy's salacious past.

Next to the extra large, military issue bunk, was perhaps the only item of interest in the room. Tentatively, Scout sidled up to the freshly polished minigun, carefully laid in a handcrafted cot of its own. Its surface gleamed with a sheen that only came with diligent maintenance. Even as its rotors lay dormant, Scout could almost hear the whirr of its engines warming up. His hand reached out, pulled by some magnetic force to this forbidden treasure.

"Yes!" He exhaled as his hand brushed the cool metal. A shiver of delight shot through him as he traced his fingers down the barrel of the gun. Heavy was unnaturally possessive over it, forbidding anyone to even look at it for longer than was necessary. So of course Scout had never wanted anything more in his life. He dared to move closer, curling his finger around the trigger. His own long face stare back from the reflective metal. "Pow" he whispered. "Pew, pew, pow!"

One click and creak later the door opened.

In his alarm, Scout tripped and fell head first over the mammoth weapon. His forehead smacked against the handle with a painfully loud 'clang'.

Comically straddled over the minigun, he blinked up in a daze.

Wearing a moss-green poker visor, and with his hand still gripped on the door handle, Heavy looked down at Scout in pure bewilderment.

Scout swallowed, knowing he would have been luckier if the fall had killed him.

A nanosecond later, he was slammed against the wall.

"You touched my gun!" Seethed Heavy as he pushed Scout further up the wall. Scout's feet dangled above the ground, kicking to find some traction.

Scout could feel his vertebra popping as Heavy's powerful fingers closed around his throat. He wheezed in a desperate attempt to explain himself. "Didn't…"

"Never. Touch. My. Gun."

Black spots danced in Scout's vision. He futilely tugged at the hand clasped around his neck. He could see Heavy gearing up a fist, taking aim to punch Scout's tiny skull into smithereens. Panic shot through him, and Scout used the last of his breath to gurgle out one final plea. "Accident… tripped… _stop_!"

Heavy squinted in suspicion. His fist still hovered in the air, but in an act of mercy he decided to give Scout the benefit of the doubt. His hand slackened, releasing the boy. Scout slid down the wall, gasping and coughing.

Scout had to take a minute just to clutch at his bruised neck and suck ragged breaths into his lungs. He glanced up to see Heavy towering over him, cracking his knuckles and eying him warily. This was far from a reprieve.

"You think you can come into my room and touch my things? What is the meaning of this?"

"I swear I didn't mean to! I just came lookin' for ya. Honest to God, cross my heart."

"You come looking for me and find Sacha? This is not so believable." Heavy took a step forward, fury gleaming in his eyes.

"It was an _accident_ man. You gotta believe me!" Scout wracked his brain for a better excuse. He knew he had a very short window of opportunity before Heavy pulverized him. "My leg! It's acting funny again. I thought you could look at it! _Oh god, please don't hit me_!"

Heavy took swift steps forward. Scout squeezed his eyes shut, bracing for impact. He waited several excruciating seconds, and when the blow didn't come he cracked an eye open, wondering what the holdup was. He expected to find himself languishing in respawn. Instead he was still sitting in Heavy's room, watching as the man cradled the minigun in his arms. He muttered soothing words in his native tongue as he inspected the casing for damage.

Scout decided to take this as a cue to make his escape. He began to crawl away on his hands and knees, eager not to draw attention to himself. Before he could even reach the door a fist grabbed his collar and yanked him back. Heavy lifted him by the scruff of his neck until they were facing eye-to-eye.

"You are lucky, tiny man. I do not see scratches on Sacha. But, if you do this again, I _will_ kill you. You understand, yes?"

Scout nodded dumbly.

"Good." Heavy lowered Scout to his feet. "Sit." He commanded.

Scout wordlessly obeyed. With no other option, he sat on the edge of Heavy's sturdy bed, waiting for the next instruction.

Heavy pulled a chair over and sat before Scout. A frown still crossed his face. "Give me your leg. I will fix this."

No knowing what else to do, Scout lifted his leg and let it rest on Heavy's thigh. The large man carefully peeled off his socks and shoes. He kept a grip on Scout's ankle and worked his free hand up Scout's leg, kneading his muscles through the material of his pants.

Scout's breath hitched, his excitement flaring just having Heavy's talented hands on him again. He watched with intrigue as Heavy used a circular motion with his thumbs, searching for the tension trapped in Scout's ligaments. It was only a cursory check-up and hardly the intense massage Scout had previously experienced, but Scout still Scout squirmed when Heavy's fingers moved closer to his pelvis. He now knew what those hands were really capable of, and he wanted more.

"Hey, uh, listen," Scout was slightly hesitant to engage Heavy in conversation. The large man was still in a sour mood, and most of his attention was focused on attending to Scout's malady. At the sound of Scout's voice he paused and raised a suspicious eyebrow. Scout pressed on, letting his desperation overrule his common sense.

"I was thinking. You ain't always going to be around to do this for me. I thought, maybe, I mean if it's no trouble, _you could show me how to do it_..."

Heavy frowned. "You want me to teach you this?"

Scout looked down at the dextrous hands that were currently wrapped around his hamstring, remembering with vivid clarity how intimately they had touched him. He looked up again, his decision unequivocal. "Yeah."

"This is very secret technique. I train for many years to lean these things. You think you can come in and expect me to just show them to you?"

"Uh, yeah?"

Heavy let go of Scout's leg and leaned back with crossed arms, scrutinizing the man.

Scout got the creeping sense that he had just said something very stupid. He gripped the bed sheets, trying not to feel like such a dumbass and decided now was a great time to do some backpedalling. "Whoa hey! Look, don't worry about it. Maybe I should just go. I've bugged ya enough. Forget I even said anything." He scooted to the edge of the bed, preparing to leave.

A large hand clapped down on his shoulder and pushed him back in place.

"Stay. I will show you something."

Scout froze, not quite believing what he was hearing.

Heavy rose from his seat and lumbered to the bookshelf on the adjacent wall. He trailed a finger across the worn spines until he stopped at a particular volume. He blew dust off the cracked cover before he returned to the bed. When he sat next to Scout the bedsprings groaned with his weight.

Scout slid down into the dip on the mattress. Their thighs nearly touched and he stiffened at the proximity. Heavy's stature seemed even more immense when he was this close.

"This," Heavy held up the weathered book so Scout could see. "This is training manual."

Scout blinked at the worn tome, not sure what to make of it. Reading wasn't exactly an interest of his.

Heavy must have sensed Scout's indifference because he gave a little chuckle and opened the first page. "Do not worry. It is mostly pictures."

He flipped through a few yellow pages, revealing intricate diagrams of the human body. Lines and circles crisscrossed an outline of a man and Scout was clueless to their meaning. The notations were all in Cyrillic, so Heavy stopped at certain pages to translate. "Here it is showing pressure points, they are connected in many ways. All bodies have them, even tiny bodies like yours. I use them on you to heal your leg."

Scout nodded, feigning understanding.

"Here," Heavy turned the page to show an illustration of an arm. There was a point on the wrist with several circles that radiated outwards from the mark. Before Scout could pull away, Heavy reached down and took a hold of his forearm. He turned Scout's palm upwards, mirroring the diagram. "Notice what I am doing."

Scout watched as Heavy began gently massage the taper of his wrist. His enormous hands practically engulfed Scout's arm. Scout would never have considered himself petite, but when he was close enough to compare, Heavy's bulk dwarfed him. The large man continued to work at the spot, gradually increasing pressure. Despite his reservations Scout watched on, deciding it wasn't worth offending Heavy by making a sceptical remark. He relaxed into the gentle touches, content to let Heavy do as he pleased.

It happened so quickly all Scout could do was squawk in surprise. It felt like a firecracker had been set off in his spine, and was now shooting stars of pleasure throughout his solar plexus. He arched his back from the intensity of the sensation, eyes wide in shock.

"You see," said Heavy, not taking his hands off Scout. "There are many ways to make a man feel good. But-" His touched changed. Now instead of a soothing rubbing motion, it became more aggressive. His fingers dug in deep, squeezing with uncomfortable pressure.

"Hey, what gives?" This was all Scout could say before white-hot pain knocked the breath out of him. What had once been waves of bliss had now been transformed into spindles of razor blades. It felt like they were rotating through him from the inside out, slashing every nerve he had. Scout nearly retched at the unbearable sensation. He yanked his arm away from Heavy, desperate to make it end.

Heavy leaned back with a sly smile. "This can also be used to harm. I have tortured many men this way."

Scout pressed his trembling arm against his chest, gaping at Heavy's casual demeanour. The pain had stopped, but his muscles continued to spasm from the memory of it. He couldn't believe he could feel so much pain with such a simple touch. "Fuck man," he panted, "that was _amazing._ Don't ever do it again!"

"It is okay. This is only demonstration. I save this for enemies, like cowardly spy. You do not need to worry unless you really make me angry." His eyes flickered to the minigun, which was now sitting safely in the far corner of the room.

Scout swallowed, getting the message loud and clear.

When Heavy was satisfied that Scout had recovered from his ordeal, he rolled back the sleeve of his own arm and presented it to Scout. "Here, now you try."

Scout looked down at the broad arm, not entirely sure if he had understood Heavy correctly. "Wait, you want me to do that to _you_?"

"You wanted to learn, didn't you?"

Scout didn't want to say that he intended to learn these skills for entirely selfish reasons. Using these techniques on himself in the privacy of his room was one thing. Applying them on a grown man three times his size was something entirely different.

Taking a deep breath, he tentatively wrapped his fingers around Heavy's thick wrists, trying as best he could to imitate what he'd seen. It was stupefying. He glanced at Heavy, hoping for a clue. "So, like this? Am I supposed to make it feel good, or what?"

"Close," Heavy placed he free hand over Scout's fingers, splaying them apart to cover more area. "Like this. My pulse, can you feel it?"

Scout's hand was trapped between the warmth of Heavy's wrist and his open palm. Faintly he could feel the rhythm of Heavy's steady heartbeat beating beneath his skin. "Yeah. Yeah, I can feel it."

"Good. Now, your fingers, move them like this."

Heavy guided Scout's digits over his pulse point, moving them in a gradual circular motion. When he was sure that Scout had the basics down, he pulled his hand away, letting Scout continue unassisted.

"Tiny man is doing well." Heavy's eyes fluttered shut in appreciation.

Scout was transfixed by the motions of his own hands and was amazed that he had the power to make someone feel that way. A tingle of delight shot through him knowing that he could reciprocate Heavy's skilled touches. A part of him wanted to trace his fingers down the rest of Heavy's arm. It bulged with muscle definition that his own body woefully lacked.

Unsettled by these urges, Scout extracted his hands from Heavy's wrist.

At the loss of Scout's touch, Heavy opened his eyes. His arm still hovered in the air, as if waiting for Scout to continue where he had left off. He hummed in thought. "Tiny Scout did well for a beginner. Did you want more practice?"

Scout looked away from Heavy, unsure what he wanted.


	5. Casual Reading

This is just a short chapter to tide you over. Not much more to say than that I guess. Enjoy!

* * *

Scout made his way back to his bedroom, furtively clutching a worn hardback close to his chest.

It was an awkward start, but his trespass into Heavy's room turned out to be strangely enlightening. After Heavy's demonstration it was clear to both men that Scout wasn't prepared to experiment further. Heavy pressed him to take the tome for further study. His only condition was that Scout try not become 'overexcited' and to make sure the book was unsoiled when he returned it, which was just about the most unsettling proviso Scout had ever heard. His inability to read Cyrillic was also a minor handicap, so Scout didn't really understand how he was going to get anything out of it. Nevertheless he accepted the book for fear of offending Heavy.

He walked through the narrow corridor lost in thought. His arm still tingled where Heavy had touched him, and he flexed his fingers remembering how far they had to stretch to envelop the width of Heavy's wrist. Scout pressed the book closer to his chest. He could hear sounds of his teammates echoing down the hall, so he picked up the pace, his instincts telling him he shouldn't been seen with this thing.

He finally reached his bedroom and kicked the door shut behind him, relieved to have made it back unseen. With a sweep of the arm he sent a bundle of desk clutter onto the floor to make room for the book. He dropped it to the table with a thump and stepped back to stare at it.

The cover was illuminated with gilt lettering. A diagram of a human figure, reminiscent of the Vitruvian Man, was inlaid on the cover. The binding was slightly worn with age and from what Scout had seen the interior wasn't in any better shape. It was clear that Heavy wasn't the first owner of this manuscript, which only deepened the mystery.

Scout turned on the rusted desk lamp and pulled his seat closer. He looked down at the book with an odd sense of foreboding. Whatever dark arts Heavy possessed originated from these pages. He flipped it open to a random page, eager to gain some insight. At least expecting to see some bloody pentagrams, he was disappointed to find swaths of unreadable text with sketchy diagrams of human figures inset amongst it. He flipped ahead to find more detailed of images of human anatomy, with several pages dedicated to each section.

He stopped at a page featuring an intricate drawing of a male torso. It was peppered with the same lines and dots on the arm diagram that Heavy had shown him. Scout vaguely remembered what he had said about pressure points. He looked down at his own chest and placed his fingers on the areas that corresponded with the diagram. Nothing happened. Disappointed, he skipped ahead, realising that he probably wouldn't be able to do anything without Heavy's guidance.

Something interesting flashed past as he mindlessly turned pages. He paused, blinked, and hurriedly flipped back to find it. He had unwittingly stumbled across the chapter on female anatomy, complete in every lurid detail. Scout's face broke out into a childish grin. He lingered on them, wondering if Heavy would notice a page missing.

When he turned to the next section, his interest with anatomically accurate women evaporated.

"Hoooly shit…" His jaw dropped in abject shock. "No way. No fucking way!"

He rubbed his eyes, took a deep breath, and looked back at the book to make sure he was seeing correctly.

Page after page had explicit depictions of men and women in a variety of sexual acts. The first few pages started with fairly standard positions, but as the chapter progressed they became more extreme, eventually showcasing feats of flexibility that only the most seasoned contortionist could attempt. Scout tilted his head as he studied one of them, unsure which leg belonged to who. For a young man whose exposure to erotica was limited to the shoebox under his bed, he had hit the jackpot.

Next to every picture were dots and arrows pointing to the various exposed areas with snippets of text next to them. Scout had never wanted to learn Russian as urgently as he did now. Who would have thought that such a conservative nation was responsible for this bible of debauchery?

He leaned closer until his nose was almost pressed against the paper, taking in as much as he could.

Scout's libido had not prepared him for the final chapter. The detailing of sexual positions continued, but there was one small difference.

This only involved men.

Scout's heart rate doubled. Mingling sensations of confusion and intrigue ran through him. He looked at the figures on the page, all engaged in activities that Scout had not thought possible. He was shocked by the shamelessness of it. In moments of curiosity he sometimes wondered about how it worked with guys. He had a vague idea, but no likely way to confirm it. Now here it was, a comprehensive guide that left nothing to the imagination.

A thought struck Scout. This was Heavy's book. Heavy had seen all of these. His hands had touched these pages; he had studied them and committed it to his memory. He knew how to do this. Maybe even put it in practice.

_What that man capable of?_

With a shuddering breath Scout undid his buckle, his hand slowly worked its way under the elastic of his underwear. His eyes never wavered from the images in front of him.

Three loud knocks rattled the door.

In his surprise, Scout jerked up. He was quick to lose his balance and toppled backwards in his chair.

"What was that noise? Are you alright in there Scout? Should I let myself in?"

"No!" Scout yelled, sprawled out on the floor in a daze. He fumbled as he attempted to re-buckle his pants.

"What is going on?" The voice demanded.

Scout extricated himself from the ground, hopping around to pull his pants back up his hips. He rushed to the door before this chucklehead attempted to break in.

He opened it a fraction to peer out at the man. "What?!"

Medic blinked at him, slightly taken aback by Scout's acerbic greeting. "I am only here to check your condition. It has been days since you last saw me."

"What of it?"

"You are suffering from a debilitating injury, if you have not forgotten."

Scout scratched the back of his head. "Uh yeah, about that… I got over it. Never felt better! So if that's all you wanted then I guess I'll be seeing you round."

Medic slipped his shoe in the door before Scout could properly shut it, much to Scout's irritation.

"It is just highly unusual that you would recover so quickly. These things take months of physical therapy."

"Guess I'm just special, Doc."

Not one to be easy dissuaded, Medic pushed a little further into Scout's room. It was filthy, as usual. He looked around in curiosity before something grabbed his attention.

"Scout, I did not know you read?"

Cold dread stopped Scout's heart. He followed Medic's line of sight to see Heavy's book on the table, open and exposed to the world.

"WHOAH, okay! Doctor's appointment is over!" He grabbed Medic by the shoulders and forcibly pushed him out of the doorway, slamming the door shut with a bang.

"I will find out vhat is going on!" Yelled Medic from the hallway.

Scout leaned against the door, rubbing his temples as he listened to the sound of Medic's departing footsteps. He prayed that Medic was blind enough not to see any detail on those pages. He walked over to the table and looked down at the book, wondering what madness had overcome him before Medic interrupted. He flipped it shut and thought about what he should do with it. Eventually he just pushed it under the bed with the rest of his junk.

It was more trouble than it was worth.


End file.
